


from eden

by hotcuppa



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bath Sex, Bipolar Ian Gallagher, Bottom Ian, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Kinda, M/M, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:29:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22891759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotcuppa/pseuds/hotcuppa
Summary: “the house is quiet, so quiet that it’s almost unsettling. silence in the gallagher house usually means something’s fucking wrong. but there isn’t anything wrong—the house is just empty, aside from ian and mickey, and ian’s still asleep.”or: mickey draws ian a bath.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 6
Kudos: 243





	from eden

**Author's Note:**

> title is ofc from eden by hozier
> 
> tbh idk when this is set. prob s10 sometime? post s10? idk just go with it

the house is quiet, so quiet that it’s almost unsettling. silence in the gallagher house usually means something’s fucking wrong. but there isn’t anything wrong—the house is just empty, aside from ian and mickey, and ian’s still asleep. 

the low had hit out of seemingly nowhere. ian was fine one day and couldn’t get out of bed the next, and he stayed in bed for twenty-six days. they’re probably going to have to make an appointment to adjust his meds, but mickey isn’t worrying about that right now. his biggest concern for the morning is if ian will get up for breakfast. 

he’s been better the past four days. getting out of bed, eating, talking. he’s not fully okay yet, still stumbles around a bit like bambi and gets tired way too easily, but it’s improvement. he’s on the up. mickey knows how to count his blessings. 

he plucks the two poptarts out of the toaster and puts two more in, for himself. he wishes he could make ian something real for breakfast, but ian hasn’t been to work in thirty days and mickey hasn’t worked enough to give them any real money. most of what they made went towards franny and liam, anyway. so poptarts it is. 

mickey’s fingers tap against the counter as he waits for the poptarts to toast. he thinks about ian asleep upstairs, wondering if waking him up is the right move. mickey hardly knows what to do anymore. just when he thinks they’re doing everything right and they get into a set schedule for a few months, ian will have an episode. they’re not always that long or that bad, but mickey thinks they spend enough fucking money on meds and therapy that  _ something _ should’ve given by now. 

but nothing ever comes easy for them, mickey’s learned that much. the only thing he can count on anymore is ian. 

there’s light creaking from the stairs, and mickey looks up just in time to see ian step down into the kitchen. he offers ian a small smile and gestures towards the toaster. “hungry?”

“yeah,” ian mumbles, and mickey feels himself flood with relief. “what kind of poptarts?”

mickey rolls his eyes, “strawberry. fuckin’ gross, but franny asked for them and i can’t tell that kid no. she does those fuckin’ puppy dog eyes that you do. no doubt she’s a goddamn gallagher.”

“i mean, technically speaking, i’m not a gallagher.”

“shut the fuck up and eat the damn poptarts, mr. technicality.” his harsh words are smoothed out by the soft good morning kiss that he presses to ian’s lips. ian smiles a bit, and then accepts the plate that mickey hands him. “you reek, by the way. you need to take a shower.”

ian sighs as he settles into a chair at the kitchen table. mickey pulls the other poptarts out of the toaster and then follows ian, sitting next to him at the table. 

“i know i do, i’m just…” 

“tired?” he asks, and ian nods. “that’s okay. i can help you out, if you want.”

ian looks up at him, wiggles his eyebrows. “that sounds fun, but i doubt we’ll get much showering done that way,” he teases, and mickey flicks a poptart crumb at him. “i dunno, man. standing that long is—”

“it’s okay,” mickey reassures him. “we can just go lay down for a bit after breakfast, alright?”

ian doesn’t respond verbally to that, just reaches over to put his hand on top of mickey’s. mickey takes it as the thank you that he knows it is, and continues eating his breakfast without saying anything else. he won’t force ian to have a conversation if he isn’t feeling up to it. he’d much rather ian focus on finishing his food, anyway. 

after they eat, they retreat back upstairs. ian gets in bed immediately while mickey grabs his pills from the bathroom. ian’s palm is already outstretched when mickey walks in, and he takes them without argument. another good development. on day fifteen, ian had thrown the pills at mickey’s head. on day twenty-one, he’d held them under his tongue and spit them out when he thought mickey was asleep. 

again, counting his blessings. 

ian moves over on the bed, making room for mickey next to him. “nah, man,” mickey says, patting him on the thigh. “i’m gonna go take a shower.” ian looks a little disappointed but nods, pulling the blankets over him and closing his eyes. mickey kisses his forehead once and then goes back into the bathroom to put ian’s meds away. 

he does start the shower, but not for himself. he switches it to the bath, and waits for the water to warm up. if ian is too tired for a shower, mickey can work with that. 

once the water is warm, mickey plugs the drain and then watches the bathtub fill. he once again finds himself wishing they had more money, so he could put bath salts or essential oils or whatever the hell gay shit people put in baths. just something else to help ian relax or whatever. 

as it is, all he has to offer ian is a grimy bathtub and some warm water. 

the tub fills up quickly, so mickey turns the water off and then lays out towels and a washcloth on the toilet lid. then he creeps back into ian’s room and gently runs his hand along ian’s arm to wake him up. 

“what?” ian mumbles, rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he blearily blinks up at mickey. it almost makes mickey feel guilty for waking him up, knowing ian was so tired that he’d fallen asleep that fast. “something wrong?”

“nah, man. you just fuckin’ smell and you need to bathe. and i need to change the sheets before i sleep in them again, it’s getting kinda fuckin’ gross.”

“i’m tired, mick.”

mickey rolls his eyes. “so you’ve said, asshole. would you just trust me?” ian eyes him warily but pushes himself to sit up, batting mickey’s hands away when he tries to help. 

ian stumbles behind mickey to the bathroom, and then stops short when he notices the full tub. mickey rubs his lip nervously, suddenly worried that ian won’t react well to it, but ian doesn’t say anything. he just drops his boxers and t-shirt, and accepts mickey’s help to step into the tub. 

“do you want me to wash your hair for you?” mickey offers, and when ian nods, he moves to sit on the edge of the tub. but before he can even reach for the shampoo, ian is grabbing his wrist. 

“get in with me.”

mickey blinks. “what?”

“there’s room,” ian insists, pulling his long ass limbs up to his chest and scooting forward so that there’s room behind him. there’s barely enough space, and ian is so fucking gangly that the way he’s bunched up does  _ not _ look comfortable, but mickey isn’t exactly in the business of telling ian no. 

so he strips his own clothes and slides into the warm water behind ian, wrapping his arms around ian’s middle when ian leans back against him. 

after a moment of just laying there, mickey gets the shampoo, because ian really  _ does  _ stink. he cups water in one hand to wet ian’s hair, and then starts massaging in the shampoo. he knows he’ll probably have to shampoo it twice, but he doesn’t mind, because ian’s eyes are closed and his head keeps bobbing like mickey’s putting him to sleep. 

“feels good,” ian tells him, speech clearly slurred with drowsiness. mickey feels another pang of guilt for waking him up, but he forces himself to ignore it. this is for the best. “thanks.”

“don’t have to thank me, man.”

mickey uses both hands to get enough water to rinse the shampoo out of ian’s hair, and curses himself for not having enough foresight to grab a cup or something. then he starts massaging the shampoo into ian’s hair again, and ian’s sleepy little whines start getting louder and less, well, sleepy. 

once the shampoo is rinsed out, mickey goes for the body wash. but ian again catches his wrist, and brings his arm down and around ian’s waist. for a second, mickey thinks that ian just wants to cuddle again because he’s still sleepy, but then his hand is being put against what feels scarily similar to a half-hard cock.

mickey doesn’t even try to hide his shock. “seriously? you’re fuckin’ hard right now?”

ian scoffs, “you would be, too, if i was giving you a goddamn scalp massage.  _ naked _ .”

“the hell i would,” mickey rebukes, just on principle. he and ian both knows that it isn’t true, because all ian has to do is look at mickey a certain way and he’ll chub up. “i gotta finish washing you, first.”

“you could just jerk me off.”

“yeah,” mickey acknowledges. “or we could finish the bath and i could ride you.”

of course mickey would’ve understood if ian had said no. he’s just coming out of a depressive episode, not being in the mood for sex is completely understandable. he’s not the type of person that would ever pressure ian into doing something he doesn’t want to do. 

that being said, he’s also not at all surprised when ian shoves the body soap into mickey’s hand and tells him to  _ hurry the fuck up. _ after all, they haven’t had sex in a month. ian being hard  _ and  _ in the mood is yet another fucking blessing, and neither of them want to pass up the opportunity. 

besides, they both kinda love it when mickey’s on top. 

mickey squeezes some soap onto a washcloth and starts running it over every inch of ian’s body. now that he knows that ian’s turned on, he decides to make a show out of it. he starts at ian’s left hand, works up his arm and across his shoulders, down across to his right hand. then he washes ian’s back, scrubbing gentle circles from top to bottom. 

he moves around to the front, starting at ian’s collarbone and working his way down. he goes extra slow over ian’s nipples, listens to how ian’s breath hitches when mickey ‘accidentally’ brushes his fingers over them. then he keeps moving down, until he reaches ian’s hips. ian spreads his legs eagerly, bucking up like he thinks he knows the next destination. 

but mickey just puts the cloth in ian’s hand. “wash your legs and feet,” mickey instructs, biting back a smile when ian groans in frustration. 

of course ian does as he’s told, but he doesn’t wash himself nearly as thoroughly as mickey had wanted him to. he doesn’t push it, though. instead he just accepts the washcloth back and then taps ian’s hips. 

“get up on your knees,” he murmurs. ian does, and then looks over his shoulder at mickey. “look, man, i love you, but you’re a grown ass man and i am not cleaning your dick  _ or _ your ass.” he hands the washcloth back, and lets ian wash the rest of his body. 

when he’s done, ian squeezes out the washcloth and rests it over the edge of the tub to dry, and then settles back against mickey’s chest to rinse off. he helps mickey out with that, thankfully, clearly in a rush to get out of the bathtub before his boner goes down. 

mickey reaches around, wraps his hand around ian’s dick and strokes it a few times, pleased to find that it’s still  _ very  _ interested. “i’ve gotta wash, too, you know,” mickey murmurs, as ian leans his head back against mickey’s shoulder and moans right in his ear. the sound makes mickey’s dick twitch, makes him speed up his hand on ian’s cock. “dry off and go to the bedroom while i wash off and drain the water, okay?” when he takes his hand away, ian practically jumps out of the tub, splashing water everywhere. 

as soon as the towel is around his waist, ian’s gone, and mickey sets to work on washing himself off. he scrubs in shampoo as quickly as humanly possible, and then does the same with the body soap. 

mickey doesn’t wait for the water to drain, just pulls the plug and then gets out and wraps himself up in a towel. he hurries to ian’s room, groaning when he sees ian spread out on the bed, jerking himself off. he closes and locks the door behind him, and then drops the towel and straddles ian’s hips. 

“gettin’ started without me, gallagher?” mickey pouts, moving down until his mouth is level with ian’s cock. ian mumbles a quiet  _ fuck, _ and nudges the head against mickey’s bottom lip. mickey decides not to tease, and quickly opens his mouth and swallows ian down. 

ian moans and arches off the mattress, and mickey knows that this won’t last long. he’d be more concerned if he thought his stamina was any better, but he’s pretty sure that he’ll be shooting off the second ian gets inside him. after all, it’s been a whole fucking  _ month.  _

mickey hollows his cheeks and bobs up and down, pausing every now and then to focus on the tip. ian is making these obscene sounds, turning mickey on so much that he has to press his hips into the bed just to get some relief. his eyes nearly roll back when ian loses control and thrusts into mickey’s mouth, making him choke. 

he takes that as the sign that it is, and pulls off ian’s dick with a  _ pop.  _ there’s a string of spit connecting his bottom lip to ian’s cock, which ian quickly reaches down to wipe away. it’s fucking gross, but so hot that mickey has to roll his hips into the mattress again. 

“gonna fuck me?” mickey asks, shuffling up the bed so he can sit on ian’s cock and let it grind between his cheeks. “need lube.”

“it’s under my pillow, but i…” ian trails off, swallows hard, and mickey starts to feel his stomach drop. “mick, can we—”

“you wanna stop?” mickey asks softly, just in case ian is too anxious to actually say it out loud. he wants ian to know that he wouldn’t be mad, that it’s perfectly okay if he wants to stop. 

but ian shakes his head, and mickey silently thanks every single god from every single religion, because he thinks he might’ve actually exploded if they hadn’t continued. 

“i just want— i wanna bottom.”

and he looks so fucking nervous, and mickey can’t figure out  _ why.  _ it’s not like this is the first time ian’s ever bottomed, and mickey has never said that he didn’t want to top anymore. 

“okay. why do you look so freaked out?”

ian shrugs, “dunno. you seemed pretty enthusiastic about riding me.”

“gallagher, it’s been a month,” mickey deadpans, making ian crack that gorgeous fucking grin that mickey hates to love. “i don’t care how we get off, so long as both our dicks are involved. okay? now hand me the lube, i gotta open you up.” ian presses the lube into mickey’s hand, and mickey wastes no time in slicking up three fingers. 

when mickey bottoms, which is like 98% of the time, ian can usually start with two fingers. he never needs that much prep—but that’s what taking nine fucking inches on the regular does to you. ian, however, almost never bottoms. and while mickey isn’t exactly packing like ian is, ian is still fucking tight, and the last thing mickey ever wants to do is hurt him. 

so mickey starts with one finger, pressing it in gently while his free hand rests on ian’s stomach. ian takes it easily, moans quietly as he reaches down to touch mickey’s free hand. after a few minutes of that, mickey slides in the second finger and starts scissoring them, working on opening ian up properly. 

when ian fingers him, mickey can come from just that alone. ian’s fingers are long, calloused in all the right places. they can reach all the spots that mickey’s own fingers can’t. they  _ know _ all of the right spots to touch. mickey hopes that, despite how little ian bottoms, he can do the same for ian. 

once he’s worked up to three, ian is fucking himself back on mickey’s fingers and begging for mickey to just get on him. so mickey pulls his fingers out, wipes them on the dirty sheets since he has to change them anyway, and then rolls on a condom. he adds a bit of extra lube and then lines himself up. 

before pushing in, he looks up at ian, just to gauge how ian’s feeling. “you sure about this?” he asks, because he knows how overwhelming this can be and he wants to give ian the out. 

but ian just wraps his legs around mickey’s waist, digging his heels into mickey’s thighs and urging him forward. mickey rolls his eyes but obliges, slowly pushing in. 

ian has this uncomfortable grimace on his face at first, so mickey makes sure to go slow. once the tip pops past ian’s rim, though, ian relaxes and moans his way through the rest, until mickey is fully seated. 

“move,” ian whines, when mickey tries to give him a moment to adjust. “fuck me.”

mickey groans, pulling out slowly and then pushing back in, over and over again. he’s definitely not fucking ian, but he’s going slow for two reasons: one, because ian is so fucking tight that mickey knows this shit will be over way too soon, and two, because ian does need the time to adjust whether he wants to admit it or not. 

eventually, though, it becomes too much and mickey picks up a steady pace of fucking in and out of him. ian scratches at mickey’s back, legs still locked around mickey’s waist and head tossed back into the pillow. it’s a bit of a heady thing for mickey, seeing gallagher feeling so goddamn good. it never ceases to amaze him that he can make ian feel like this, that he can be the reason that a man so goddamn  _ hot _ just falls apart. 

“not gonna last,” mickey warns, as he snaps his hips against ian’s. he’s going faster now, even more uncoordinated than before. his muscles are screaming, too—mickey loves the feeling of ian’s ass around his dick, don’t get him wrong, but he definitely prefers bottoming. and not only because of the tiredness of his muscles. 

ian moans, grips the back of mickey’s neck and pulls him down. “i’m so fucking close,” he whispers out, and then sears their lips together. mickey gives in quickly, pressing his tongue into ian’s mouth and swallowing up every single one of ian’s sounds. 

he snakes one hand between them and grabs ian’s cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. it only takes a couple for ian to cry out and spill between them, coating his stomach with his release. mickey follows pretty soon after, burying himself to the hilt and releasing into the condom with small spasms of his hips. 

when they’ve both ridden out the aftershocks, mickey drops down onto ian’s chest and presses a kiss to his sweat-coated sternum. ian chuckles and kisses mickey’s hair, and then shoves him off so he can sit up and get tissue off of the nightstand to wipe off his stomach. 

“kind of pointless to get a bath when we were both just gonna get covered in cum,” ian teases, leaning over to wipe some spare drops off of mickey’s chest. he also gets the used condom and throws it away with the tissues, and then lays back down next to mickey. “you still need to change the sheets, though.”

mickey snorts, pulls the blanket over the both of them. “what the fuck ever, man. that’s the most physical exercise i’ve gotten in, like, a solid year. i’m fuckin’ tired and we have an empty fuckin’ house, i’m taking a nap.” he puts his head on ian’s pillow, so close that his nose touches ian’s cheek. “i’m glad you’re feeling better.”

ian hums, rolls on his side so their noses are touching. “thank you for making me feel good,” he whispers back, and it’s so cheesy that mickey has to fight the urge to call him an asshole or something. instead, he just leans in and presses a kiss to ian’s mouth. 

“now, about that nap,” ian smiles, when they’ve pulled back, “you gonna roll over so i can hold you?”

mickey rolls his eyes. “you kiddin’ me? i’m the fuckin’ top. if anyone is the little fuckin’ spoon, it sure as hell ain’t me.” but he turns over anyway, and closes his eyes when ian presses his chest to mickey’s back and then holds him so tightly that mickey thinks he would be warm even in antarctica, if ian was holding him like this. “fuck you, gallagher.”

ian snorts, “love you, too, mick.”


End file.
